In the summer of 2015 I really drove west for the first time in my life. I had a summer internship in Mount Vernon, WA, so Tess and I road tripped out there all the way from Grand Rapids, MI. I'd never driven further west than Minnesota/Iowa/Missouri before, and I was very excited to experience the Rocky Mountains. When I first saw the mountains looming in the distance, happiness spread across my face. As the road climbed in Wyoming, I was practically giddy. Having lived all my life in the relatively flat spaces of Wisconsin—with brief stints in Illinois and Michigan—the mountains left me in awe. They were so much bigger and wilder than I ever could have imagined. That summer in Washington we regularly took day trips to the Cascade Mountains as possible, and Tess and I hit a couple national parks on our road trips bookending the summer. But our time out west was limited, and soon the mountains were only a memory.
Last week I finally got the chance to see the Rockies again. Tess, Lanie, and I took a trip to visit friends and family in Colorado. Now we didn't truly get into the heart of the mountains. We spent time in Fort Collins, Longmont, and Colorado Springs, mostly hovering between 5000 and 6000 ft. But we could see some truly high peaks when the weather was nice, and we still got a little taste of climbing up and down as we drove and did a bit of hiking. The views here in Iowa are nice enough. We get a good feeling of space looking over seemingly endless fields of corn and soybeans. But there's something different about looking up to the mountains and looking down from the heights. For a flatlander like myself, there's mysterious beauty in snow gleaming on the peaks and towns spreading through valleys. I love the exertion and adventure of hiking up and around on new trails, the picturesque scenery of trees and rocks and streams. I'll miss the thrill of seeing the mountains. I guess I'll just have to take another trip sometime.
Grace and peace,
BMH
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